Chapter 27
“Jay! Quick, there’s a sniper to your left.”
“Noooooo,” Jay groans when his character falls to the ground.
Jay’s just hitting the button to start a new game when Jo appears in the doorway.
She’s changed into a pajama set covered in tiny llamas and the words Mama Llama.
Her hair’s curly again today, soft yet wild like her, exactly how I like it.
All that untamed wildness deserves to be set free, not straightened and forced into submission.
And now, seeing those loose ringlets hits me square in the chest.
“Jay, it’s getting late. If we’re leaving cookies for Santa, we need to get this show on the road. Then it’s bedtime.”
“All right,” Jay grumbles. I switch off the game and the three of us head to the kitchen. Abby is already at the kitchen table, writing something on a piece of paper.
“Jay, you need to write your note to Santa,” Abby says when she looks up.
She slides him a piece of notebook paper and Jay sits to write. Jo grabs a carton of milk and a carrot from the fridge and sets them beside a plate of snickerdoodles.
“When y’all finish the letters, let’s set out the milk and cookies. Then you two need to get to bed,” Jo says.
They finish their letters a few minutes later, and I linger in the kitchen doorway, watching quietly as the three of them get everything ready for Santa.
Jay carefully pours a small glass of milk while Abby lays out three cookies and a peeled carrot on a plate.
I’m hit by a memory of my mom doing this very thing with Austin, Cassie, and me.
Austin and I had outgrown Santa, but we played along for Cassie’s sake.
And there it is again—the ache that keeps showing up, reminding me how much I’ve missed.
I wonder if Jo has a clue what this means to me.
What it feels like to be here experiencing this tradition with them.
Yes, I could have flown back to Texas to visit my parents, but the only place I want to be this Christmas is right here in Jo’s kitchen with this family. My family, my pounding heart says.
Jay and Abby head off to brush their teeth, but Jo pauses in the doorway beside me. She’s standing too close for clear thoughts, and all I can breathe in is her.
“So, they still believe?” I ask, mostly to distract myself from the urge to touch her.
Jo cocks a brow. “Abby’s thirteen, Tyler. She plays along for Jay. Though, I suspect this is his last year. He’s made a few comments, things he hears at school from other kids.”
Her expression shifts, a coy smile touching her lips. Now it’s my turn to cock a brow at her. “What’s that smile for?” I ask.
Her gaze tips upward and I follow her line of sight.
Mistletoe.
Not one to waste a perfectly good opportunity while standing under mistletoe with Jo, I step in closer.
“There are certain rules about mistletoe, you know.”
She places a hand on my chest, fingernails scratching lightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, but Tyler, I’ve never been one to follow rules,” she says, teasing.
“Follow this one. Please, sweetheart.”
There’s a beat of stillness before I see something flicker behind her eyes; the exact second she makes up her mind.
Smiling, Jo nods, and I slide a hand around her waist, the other threading into her hair.
I tug lightly, positioning her exactly how I want her and she lets out a breathy sigh, leaning into me.
Taking control, I back her up until she’s against the door frame and lean in, placing my lips on hers.
They part like an invitation, and I take it, swiping my tongue in her mouth to get a taste of her.
She tastes sweet, like sugar from the cookies, and if her kids weren’t down the hall getting ready for bed, I’d have her on the kitchen counter, legs spread wide to see if she tastes as sweet as I imagine.
My cock is painfully hard with need for Jo.
Pressing against her, hoping she feels what she does to me, I slide my hand under her shirt to the bare skin of her back, pulling her body flush against my own. Like somehow I could get more. More of Jo, more of this moment.
Kissing her feels like a spark catching flame, igniting every want, every desire, and fusing them into this one perfect moment. Jo’s mouth was made for kissing and if I only get this single solitary time with her, I’m damn well making good use of it.
I kiss Jo everywhere. My lips explore this beautiful woman, momentarily leaving her mouth to trail down her jawline, her neck, like it’s a map. One I could spend a lifetime learning by heart and never grow tired of.
A door clicks open down the hallway, interrupting us and breaking our trance as if a hypnotist has snapped their fingers. But because I can’t help myself, I pull her in for one more quick taste of her bottom lip.
“All right, kids, time for bed,” Jo yells, her voice breathless.
She casts one longing look to me, before disappearing down the hall to say good night. I adjust myself in my pants and head to the living room, sinking onto the couch to wait for her. Five quiet minutes pass before both kids shout in unison, “Good night, Tyler!”
Smiling, I call back, “Night, Jay. Night, Abs.”
I don’t know when she went from being Abby to Abs in my mind, but when it slipped out earlier, it felt natural. If Abby thought anything was weird about it, she didn’t let on.
At least ten minutes pass before Jo is back, arms full of boxes. Dozens of wrapped gifts already sit under the tree, but apparently Santa wasn’t quite finished.
“From Santa,” she whispers, with a wink.
“Ahh,” I reply. Now I remember how this is done. I’m rusty on holiday traditions with kids, but I recall my mom doing this very thing. Wrapping the gifts from her and my dad, while leaving Santa’s gifts unwrapped like he pulled them straight from his magical bag.
I help Jo lay them out, making one pile for Jay and one for Abby. Then she stuffs the stockings and places them beside each kid’s haul. Stepping back, her eyes do one last sweep over it all.
“Think you got them enough?” I ask, surveying the two mountains of gifts.
She turns to me with a grin. “It’s my first year having extra income. My Etsy shop’s been busy the last few weeks, and I couldn’t help myself. There’ve been years when the piles were maybe a third of this.” She pauses. “Hell…maybe even less. You think I went overboard?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “It’ll be a great day for them.” Crossing the room to sit on the couch, I pat the cushion for her to join me, but she holds up a finger.
“One sec. Let me grab something from my room.”
Jo leaves only to return seconds later holding a square box wrapped in red and white paper. Setting it in my lap, she sits beside me, chewing the side of her thumbnail.
“What is it?” I hold the box to my ear giving it a shake.
Jo’s smile is secretive, but she gives me no hints.
Carefully peeling back each fold of the wrapping paper, I come to a plain white box.
I lift the lid and what I find has tears blurring my vision, my throat thick with raw emotion.
Inside the box is a beautiful leather photo album with the words Who Needs Superman When You Can Have a Dad?
Knowing Jo’s troubled relationship with fathers and what it must have felt like having this made for me, I pull her to me and press my lips to her temple.
My mouth opens to thank her, but I’m at a loss for words.
Truly, there are none to express not only what this album means to me, but what this entire day has meant.
Jo must sense how overwhelmed I am, because she leans in and flips to the first page.
With my heart in my throat, I listen while she explains what was happening when each photo was taken.
Jo rests her head on my shoulder, and I flip through the album, quietly absorbing the images.
There, on each page, are photos of Abby at every stage of life from a chubby baby, to a laughing toddler, growing up on the pages of this album.
The final photo shows Abby at a school awards day from last year, standing proudly wearing several ribbons and medals.
Closing the book, I carefully place it back in the box for safe keeping until I get back to the apartment where it will sit proudly on my coffee table.
“Jo,” I say after a prolonged silence, “I can’t thank you enough for this. You couldn’t have given me a better gift.”
Jo straightens and meets my eyes. “Now you’ll have a bit of her past. I know it’s not the same as being there, but it’s something.”
“No, it’s everything.” I tap the box in my lap. “Thank you for this.”
Her gifts from me are still sitting on the coffee table, and Jo digs into the smallest one, producing the bag of orange slices. Tearing it open, she plucks one out and pops it into her mouth, tilting the bag toward me.
“Want one?”
I shake my head, smiling when she grabs a second one for herself. “What’s the story with the orange slices?”
Jo’s eyes go soft and hazy like she’s looking to the past.
“Those are Mawmaw’s favorite candy. That jar”—she points her thumb toward the kitchen—“was hers. My entire life she kept it full of orange slices. She doesn’t eat them anymore.
I think she’s forgotten them. So I eat them for her to keep the memory alive.
” She pauses. “I can’t believe you noticed them. ”
Could I tell her I notice everything without scaring her off?
What would she say if I told her I love the way her bottom teeth are the tiniest bit crooked, and that imperfection makes her all the better.
Or that I’ll never again smell peaches and vanilla without thinking of her, the way it clings to her skin and lingers in the air long after she’s gone.
Meeting her eyes, I thread my fingers with hers and speak from my heart. “Jo…I notice so much. More than you realize.”
Together, we set up a queen-size air mattress in her art room, then she hurries off to find some clothes I can sleep in. She’s much smaller than me, so I honestly have no idea what she thinks might fit.
Meanwhile, I head to the bathroom where she’s placed a brand new toothbrush, a washcloth, and a small bar of soap.
Quickly going through a bedtime routine, I return to Jo’s art room where she now waits, holding an armload of clothes.
She plops them onto the mattress with a big grin and steps into the hallway for me to try them on.
I pull each piece of clothing out, inspecting my options.
The shirts are doable, even if every single one has some ridiculous saying on it.
No doubt, she deliberately chose the goofiest ones she owns.
I settle on a pink tee that reads Even Baddies Get Saddies with a cartoon cat wearing sunglasses.
The sweatpants will be a problem, though, since Jo is several inches shorter than me.
Still, I stuff myself into them. They stop at my calves and cling tighter than I’d like, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Opening the door, Jo steps into the room and immediately bursts out laughing when she sees what I’m wearing. Placing both hands on my waist, I attempt a scowl and she whips out her phone, snapping a picture of me.
My scowl increases.
“The sweats do accentuate your thigh muscles…and other things.” Her eyes drop quickly to my cock and back up. “You can’t deny that. I think you should wear that size more often.”
I laugh at her audacity. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
She presses a hand to her heart, eyes wide with mock sincerity. “Those are literally the only shirts I own.”
“No school shirts?” I ask, taking the smallest step closer to her.
“Nope.”
“No concert tees?” Another step until I’m less than a foot from Jo.
“Nope,” she says again, her voice softer, the air between us shifting.
“I think”—I tug her to me by the front of her shirt, my voice ragged—“that you’re a terrible liar.”
Jo’s hands go to grasp my biceps, sexual tension sliding between us, so thick I can hardly breathe.
I want Josie Thomas.
And I don’t mean in the purely sexual way; though right now, my dick is so swollen I know it’s visible through these tight sweatpants.
I want her in the let’s do this again next year and every year after kind of way.
The build a life together kind of way. Aware I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, I work to bring my thoughts back to the here and now, with Jo so close I can see every shade of blue and silver in her eyes.
Standing still as a statue, I watch as she rises to her toes, bringing her soft lips to mine in the lightest brush of a kiss.
Resting my forehead against hers, I close my eyes, my breaths mingling with hers in the quiet of the house.
“Good night, Tyler,” Jo whispers, trailing her fingertips lightly down my arms until she’s walking backward from the room.
“Night, Jo.”
Focusing on anything but Jo right on the other side of the very thin wall, I do everything within my power to gain control of my raging erection.
Thankfully, my phone lights up with an incoming email.
Swiping open the app, I see it’s from Kate.
The subject line reads Merry Christmas to You.
I click to open it, my eyes scanning my screen.
Everything I’ll need to put Principal Stanback in his place is right here.
I knew the man had skeletons. Kate is truly a genius, one I’m glad to have on my team.
Setting my phone on the floor, I think to myself, Merry Christmas to me, indeed.